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asked the child, ‘are you coming to play this evening?’
    Kelderek hesitated. ‘Why - I can’t say. No, Sarin, I don’t think I shall be able to come this evening.’
    ‘Why not?’ said the child, plainly disappointed. ‘You’ve hurt your shoulder - is that it?’
    ‘There’s something I’ve got to go and tell the High Baron,’ replied Kelderek simply.
    Another, older boy, who had joined them, burst out laughing.
    ‘And I have to see the Lord of Belda before dawn - a matter of life and death. Kelderek, don’t tease us. Don’t you want to play tonight?’
    ‘Come on, can’t you?’ said Taphro impatiently, shuffling his feet in the dust.
    ‘No, it’s the truth,’ said Kelderek , ignoring him. ‘I’m on my way to see the High Baron. But I’ll be back: either tonight or - well, another night, I suppose.’
    He turned away, but the boys trotted beside him as he walked on.
    ‘We were playing this afternoon,’ said the little boy. ‘We were playing “Cat Catch a Fish”. I got the fish home twice.’
    ‘Well done’ said the hunter, smiling down at him.
    ‘Be off with you!’ cried Taphro, making as though to strike at them. ‘Come on — get out!’ You great dunder-headed fool,’ he added to Kelderek , as the boys ran off. ‘Playing games with children at your age!’
    ‘Good night!’ called Kelderek after them. ‘The good night you pray for - who knows?’
    They waved to him and were gone among the smoky huts. A man passing by spoke to Kelderek but he made no reply, only walking on abstractedly, his eyes on the ground.
    At length, after crossing a wide area of rope-walks, the two approached a group of larger huts standing in a rough semi-circle not far from the eastern point and its broken causeway. Between these, trees had been planted, and the sound of the river mingled with the evening breeze and the movement of the leaves to give a sense of refreshing coolness after the hot, dry day. Here, not only women were at work. A number of men, who seemed by their appearance and occupations to be both servants and craftsmen, were trimming arrows, sharpening stakes and repairing bows, spears and axes. A burly smith, who had just finished for the day, was climbing out of his forge in a shallow, open pit, while his two boys quenched the fire and tidied up after him.
    Kelderek stopped and turned once more to Taphro.
    ‘Badly-aimed arrows can wound innocent men. There’s no need for you to be hinting and gossiping about me to these fellows.’
    ‘Why should you care?’
    ‘ I don’t want them to know I’m keeping a secret,’ said Kelderek.
    Taphro nodded curdy and went up to a man who was cleaning a grindstone, the water flying off in a spiral as he spun the wheel.
    ‘Shendron’s messenger. Where is Bel-ka-Trazet?’
    ‘He? Eat ing.’ The man jerked his thumb towards the largest of the huts.
    ‘I have to speak to him.’
    ‘If it’ll wait,’ replied the man, ‘you’d do better to wait Ask Numiss - the red-haired fellow - when he comes out. He’ll let you know when Bel -ka- Trazet ‘s ready.’
    Neolithic man, the bearded Assyrian, the wise Greeks, the howling Vikings, the Tartars, the Aztecs, the samurai, the cavaliers, the anthropophagi and men whose heads do grow beneath their shoulders: there is one thing at least that all have known in common — waiting until someone of importance has been ready to see them . Numiss, chewing a piece of fat as he listened to Taphro, cut him short, pointing him and Kelderek to a bench against the wall. There they sat. The sun sank until its rim touched the horizon upstream. The flies buzzed. Most of the craftsmen went away. Taphro dozed. The place became almost deserted, until the only sound above that of the water was the murmur of voices from inside the big hut. At last Numiss came out and shook Taphro by the shoulder. The two rose and followed the sen-ant through the door, on which was painted Bel -ka- Trazet ‘s emblem, a golden snake.
    The hut